Family Tree
by xbballbolin
Summary: Bent or broken is the family tree. Each branch a part of a part of me. This is my tree, and it's a big ol' tree. -Rain Perry. Follow Lucas and Sam James (Cogan) as they meet their grandparents, Audrey Parker and Nathan Wuornos. Post Season 3 AU
1. Prelude

Summary: Bent or broken is the family tree. Each branch a part of a part of me. This is my tree, and it's a big ol' tree. -Rain Perry. Follow Killian and Sam James (Cogan) as they meet their grandparents, Audrey Parker and Nathan Wuornos. Post Season 3 Pre Season 4

Need to Knows:

-My cousin originally started this fic but decided to drop it and I really loved the storyline. Let's make him wish he kept it, shall we?

-When Lucy took James into the barn and left Arla behind, Arla was pregnant.

-The twins found out about their mother's sorted past (aka the way she took people's skin) and left home.

-The Cogan Twins haven't seen eachother in years.

-Killian is a bounty-hunter and Elena is a Police Officer

_.- -" "- -._

(… .(_\.../_)… )

{ _"...=-... }- - - - - -{.. .-=..."_}

Xbballbolin

presents

A Family Affair

A Haven Fan-Fiction

{_.."… … … … … … …""(_}

_Prelude_

Audrey Parker.

It's just a name to Killian: four syllables, a couple of vowels, a few letters but to the man that owns the rough hand forcing his head underwater- the man that'd spent the past few days running through torture method after torture method- the name is worth killing over. The pressure on his neck makes it impossible to hold his breath. Agony pounds through his being causing him to cry out and the moment his lips part, it's like opening the floodgates. Immediately, water fills his mouth and the panic within takes hold. He thrashes about madly in an attempt to break free, bubbles of the air he has left escape with his screams. And just when Killian feels darkness pulling at the edge of his consciousness… that the end is near, the hand lifts him from the cool waters of hell.

"How was the swim?" the man questions in a monotone nature that doesn't match the maliciousness of his misdeeds.

But Killian is too busy choking to respond, body convulsing in violent spasms as he tries to cough up the water that ills his insides. Once his raw throat is clear, Killian begins taking in as much air as his shriveled lungs can take… greedily… hungrily. It doesn't matter he is making himself dizzy. In this moment, air is the only thing that matters. Internally, he promises himself that he'll never take the usually mechanical act of breathing in oxygen and exhaling carbon dioxide for granted ever again until he realizes he's yet to respond to his captor.

"Refreshing," he breathes, the word sticking to his throat and coming out gravely. After a pause and an attempt to clear his throat, he continues, "I just wish I was a better swimmer."

A dry laugh laced in bitterness dances through the air and the instant it stops, he drives Killian's head back into the murky water for a moment reenacting a process that's been stuck on repeat so long Killian has lost count. But this time, he isn't held under until he's skirting the point of suffocation, just long enough to make the point he's losing patience. After giving Killian a moment to catch his breath, the man continues his bombardment of questions.

"Alright, smartass, let's try this again. Where is Audrey Parker?"

Again with the same question he'd been suffocated beneath a plastic bag, electrocuted by a car battery, and sliced and diced constantly. To say he'd grown tired of the question was an understatement. The gravel in his voice is cleared by the aggression barreling through his being, "I don't know. I don't know. I don't know! How many times do I have to tell you before it fucking sinks in?!"

It's the truth, plain and simple, but the man believes it a lie and Killian knows he'll suffer for it. Again, the grip on the back of his neck tightens and Killian knows it won't be long until his head is thrust back into the murky depths. Closing his eyes, he takes the necessary steps to get some air into his chest and prepares himself- as much as one can prepare themselves- to dive in. The grip on his neck moves him to hover over the pit and just when he's sure he's going under, the hand stops pulling him back.

"How about your mother? Do you know where she is?"

A sickly constriction tighten within him, the pains of fear, dread and disgust culminating in a hollowing bile at the mere mention of his mother, devouring his insides in a single gulp. His mind reeled, scouring his memory for the last words he told his mother:

_"There's nothing human left in you. No good. No kindness. No love. Only a monster that needs to be stopped… and if I ever see you again, I swear to God I'll stop you."_

He turned his head to look up at his captor with an impending doom, terrified to ask but driven on all the same. Biting the bullet he asks, "What does Audrey Parker have to do with my mother?"

The captor didn't answer, just stared down at Killian, daring him to guess. Killian knew the more he asked, the more it would hurt- like picking at a wound that would've healed if he knew to leave well enough alone but he couldn't control himself. "Tell me what Audrey Parker has to do with Arla!"

"Everything."

[xXx]

The steel guitar twang of an old country song hummed from the jukebox which seemed to have the old-timey feel of the dimly lit dive bar where the pungent odor of stale cigarette smoke, beer, and something vaguely reminiscent of piss was overwhelming. In such a hell-hole, the downtrodden detective believed he might be able to lay low for the next twenty-seven years or so…

And he'd been doing pretty well so far. The concept of time had turned from seconds, minutes, hours into sips, drinks, and bottles. But as he stirred the amber liquid in the culvert of his glass, the gentle touch of feminine laughter dancing through the air hit his ears causing him to look up from his drunken oblivion.

Leaning against the table lining up her shot was a woman in her early-twenties with hair the color of dying embers and a guy laced around her guiding her shot in the midst of a date cliché. Leaning in he whispered something into her ear that made her look up from her cue, a smile dancing across her lips. Then she turned back over her shoulder to him and mouthed the words, 'I love you more.'

Under his breath he cursed and downed the contents of his glass quickly motioning for another. The scene before him was love, simple and sweet, but too sweet for the observer's blood. It pained him to look at displays of affection, of love in any variation. She was to blame.

Audrey Parker.

It'd been a month since he came up with the brilliant idea to shoot Agent Howard thus losing Audrey and intensifying the troubles. He'd failed. He'd failed Haven. He'd failed her and now he lived the life of a failure… drunken, downtrodden, and devastated.

[xXx]

She never expected to see the great Nathan Wuornos in a bar like this, never thought he'd fall this far from grace but here they were. She marched through the sea of peanut shells and cigarette butts that littered the floor, moto-boots clapping across the old wood plank flooring as she made her way through the sea of nobodies for her somebody.

"Nathan Wuornos. Oh how the mighty have fallen."

Bloodshot eyes shot up and settled upon the angel that took the seat next to him. Her beauty was almost alien… foreign didn't begin to describe the out-of-this-world beauty she possessed. Sun-lightened luscious chocolate tresses, flawless sun-kissed skin, and sky blue eyes laced with liquid silver and a list that went on for days all indicators but his first impression is instantly called into question when she takes the glass before him and takes a long hard swig.

"I was drinking that," he deadpanned, the words humming lazily over drunken lips.

"Was being the operative word," she teases, the edge of her lip curling into a smirk. "In fact, I hope you enjoyed your last drink because it is your last."

"Well, unless you're here to kill me," he starts, pausing when he realizes it may be a possibility. "You aren't here to kill me are you?"

All defense and objection died in her throat, mouth groping for words, her hatred for her realization stronger than defending herself at this point. "You want me to be?"

He hesitates, contemplation burning in his eyes, "Of course not."

She saw it though. He was a shell of the man- no country, no honor, no love, no hope… just irrevocably empty- walking down the path of a broken heart. We've all found ourselves barreling down this path a time or two for whatever length. And once you've started down this path, you must choose: take the nearest exit for the road to recovery or ride it off the cliff into the vast darkness of nothingness. And sometimes we get lost along the way not realizing they've past their exit. But then there are times when there's a hand reaching out to guide us pull us back or push us towards an exit. She'd been where Nathan teeters- precariously perched on that ledge without an exit in sight.

And Killian was there to pull her back so she'd pull Nathan back in the hopes of repaying that debt.

"You did, but I've already got enough blood on my hands… which is why I'm here," she admits noticing the way his brow raises slightly, interest peaked. "I need your help saving my brother."

Nathan laughed. He couldn't even save himself. How was he supposed to help this stranger? "I can't help you."

"You can and you will," she demands, not leaving any room for questioning. "Because Killian is your grandson and we're all you have left."

If you want to see more of this fic,

There's an easy little trick.

All you gotta do,

Is take the time to review.


	2. Chapter One

Summary: Bent or broken is the family tree. Each branch a part of a part of me. This is my tree, and it's a big ol' tree. -Rain Perry. Follow Killian and Sam James (Cogan) as they meet their grandparents, Audrey Parker and Nathan Wuornos. Post Season 3 Pre Season 4

_.- -" "- -._

{ _"...=-... }- - - - - -{.. .-=..."_}

Xbballbolin  
presents

A Family Affair

A Haven Fan-Fiction

{_.."… … … … … … …""(_}

_Chapter One _

The wheel of the blue 1979 Ford Bronco maneuvered down the serpentine road, barreling towards the small town of Haven, Maine. The vehicle snaked its way through the path forged by nature, over and around moss-covered rock formations and through a dark forest of cedar, spruce, and fir, finding the path of least resistance like the flow of a river. Coming in through the mountain was a dangerous approach but a good rescue mission never started with walking through the front door and letting your enemies know you're coming. The turbulence of the rough terrain finally broke the sleeper hold his hangover had on him and Nathan began to stir. Heavy lids force themselves open, the blurs of moving images slowly solidifying. But as his surroundings became clear, the details how he got there became hazy.

Dazedly, he rolls head to the left, baby blues taking in the beautiful brunette beside him. It's then that the events of the night before slowly creep out from the dark recesses of his hung-over mind. His granddaughter. He's the grandfather of a woman eight years younger than him. The Troubles ability to completely disregard the rules of space, time, and nature never ceased to amaze him.

"Hey," he finally mumbles when he notices her glance in his direction.

Nathan knows there has to be something better than a simple greeting, something more appropriate for a situation like this, but he'd already given the ever-so-inadequate hey. So he switches to the waiting game to see what she says, how she reacts, hoping… praying she can come up with something better.

"Hey," she replied, eyes not leaving the road as she maneuvered past a particularly statuesque oak tree.

Her mirrored response triggered a realization in his brain- a reflection finally allowing him to see what he'd thought to be missing the night before. Elena Cogan was not the spitting image of her mother or grandmother. She was her father's daughter from those shimmery halos of blue, to the dimples in her cheeks, to the shape of her chin.

A little smile slips onto his lips as he realizes that maybe he hadn't lost him after all.

[xXx]

Something, horribly, bone-creakingly cold touched his back leading him to shake against his restraints. Fear lances through him, letting off a jolt of adrenalin so strong it fights back the effects of the drug and clears his head. He's tightly restrained again, arms pulled taught to keep him upright. There are places on his body, shoulders, back, and fingers that burned with a ferocity he'd never experienced contradictive to sensation that brought him back from his peaceful oblivion. He feels it all across his back finally starting to dull so he knows there's someone still there and it makes his skin crawl because he can't see them, doesn't know where they are or what's coming next.

"By now you probably have realized we're not allowed to kill you," came a voice, unfamiliar and feminine. "But that doesn't mean we can't have a little fun."

"Go to hell," he growls, pushed past labored breaths.

"We're already there because Nathan just couldn't let Audrey go," she spat. It'd been explained to him what had happened… but never worded in such a fashion. It was always Audrey, Audrey, Audrey- never Nathan. Never in that tone.

"Is that jealousy I detect," he questions, a cheeky grin of satisfaction slipping onto his lips but just as it appeared, it vanished. Soft hands land on his abdomen, freezing the air in his lungs and send his body jerking in the opposite direction.

Her touch burned.

His lungs heave and he clamps his mouth shut so hard that he jaw throbs. Her hand shifts, stroking his back in a disgusting mockery of a gentle gesture, painting fire and pain crippling him. He wants to cry out, but airless chocking erases any possibility of an outburst. What he wouldn't give for another round of water-bording, some whipping, anything that constituted a solid strike- something other than this overpowering burn.

Finally she lifts her hand to give him some rest.

"I bet you wish you had Nathan's trouble right about now," she spits, her turn to grin in satisfaction.

"I bet you wish you had Nathan," he replies, knowing that he'd opened himself to another round of torture but unwilling to go down without a fight nonetheless.

And this time she digs her devious hands into his flesh until he loses consciousness.

[xXx]

An explosion erupted through the factory, the door erupting and contorting into a crumpled heap with the ease of paper. Smoke choked the interior. The pounding echo of bullets flying in quick succession ringing out blend with the loud cries of pain as they took out the captors in quick succession. Nathan watched her six and as his granddaughter proved once again the apple didn't fall far from the tree- outstanding marksmanship mirroring that of Audrey and himself.

Thump. Thump. Thump…

Bodies fall like toy soldiers, blood spurting from their chests. From the open expanse they slipped seamlessly into the nearby corridor and for a moment Nathan believed they were safe but the windows behind them shattered in a shower of confetti. Elena ducked, shards nipping at her flesh as it rained down until suddenly it wasn't anymore.

For a moment she believes the shower to have ended but she still hears the unholy echo of bullets ringing and feels a weight hovering above. Nathan held her in a protective embrace, shielding her from pain the way she imagined a father or grandfather would but never personally witnessed it. It was a moment she felt safe, protected but just as quickly as the moment had fallen upon them, it vanished. Their war waged to get her brother not quite over. The moment the barrage of gunfire ceased, Nathan was up laying down cover fire.

"Go find, Killian," Nathan orders. "I've got you covered."

[xXx]

It's been too long since his last round of torture.

He's still hung up, exhausted, beyond dehydrated, and barely able to breathe, but waiting for the next spike of burning pain was the most excruciating of the sensations. Did they get what they wanted from him? Or worse, did they realize that Audrey was just another estranged family member lost to Killian? Did they no longer have a use for him? And if not, how much longer did he have left?

Before he had the assurance that they wouldn't kill him because he was value.

He tries to move, to be his own hero, strains against the weakness in his limbs and croaks around the dryness of his throat but he can't hear himself and doesn't know if they can either. Hands shackled above his head hang uselessly despite his efforts to try and escape. The smears of oil used to intensify the electrocution he'd previously endured lingered on his skin like a desert heat; painful, raw skin across his back excruciating. They'd taken his sound, his sight, tortured him with touch and taste, and now they'd taken away even time. He's drifting, sickeningly loose in space despite the hard bight of the metal grinding in his wrists. He feels his chest heaving in a desperate way, his breathing labored as possible. He allows the narrowing world to be an advantage, only one thought in his mind. Breathe. In… Out… In… Out. In. Out.

Time loses meaning, the silence his solace until he finds something he thought he'd lost the moment he entered this hell:

Hope.

It comes in the form of a tremor; he feels it in the air and through the vibration of the shackes. Then it's followed by a change in the air; a breeze coming across his burning, over sensitive skin in a way just short of pain, sending chills and shakes bringing life to dead limbs. And finally, he hears a faint hint of actual sound; a low deadened sound that makes his heart lurch in his chest. He wasn't sure if it was someone coming to save him or kill him but he knew one thing for certain.

Soon he'd be free.

[xXx]

Please, be alive. Please…

She inches closer to her brother, shaky fingers extended to his neck. Immediately, the wounded warrior flinched but he didn't open his eyes, doesn't show the defiance she knows him to have. His breathing is so rough, pained that she suspects internal injuries but there's no sign of bruising.

"Killian, Kills," she rasps, a lump accumulating in her throat and making it nearly impossible to swallow.

Again, she feels for a pulse, this time he doesn't protest against her touch paralyzing her momentarily. His throat moves under her fingers and theirs a kiss of air that might've been his attempt to speak.

"It's okay, Kills. I've got you," she coos, a comforting hand stroking his hair. "I'm gonna get you out of this hellhole."

She pulls a bobby-pin from her hair and begins to pick at the locks shackling his wrists but doesn't get them released before she's stopped. Thick hands contort themselves down to latch onto her hands. Calloused fingertips crape across the top of her hands as he tightens his grip.

"Lane," he breathes, the heaviness of the struggle to speak evident. But she can tell he needs to say it. He needs to know so she gives him a moment holding his hand as tightly as he held hers. "Was this you?"

The question is knives in her heart but she knows she deserves it none the less. Baby blues flicker down to the floor in shame; allowing herself to feel the guilt surging through her but she only gives herself a minute. The road to atonement didn't have time for self-pity. "I swear to you, I had nothing to do with this."

"Why would he think you had something to do with this?" a voice asks from behind causing her to whip into its direction.

Nathan hung in the doorway, gun still pointed in the direction of the hall as he stood guard but eyes now locked on her. Letting out a heavy sigh, Elena knew she owed him at least enough of an answer to stem his curiosity. Pulling at the neckline of her shirt, Elena revealed a tattoo hiding just beneath her collarbone, a symbol Nathan instantly recognized.

"Because I used to be a member of the Guard."

To be continued…

Want more of this little fic?  
I'll let you in on a little trick.  
All you gotta do,  
Is take the time to review.

[And thank you to everyone who did take the time to review on the prelude]


End file.
